Rude Awakening (17 page)

That just wouldn’t do.

He took two steps back and punched her in the stomach, loving the way she automatically tried to bring herself into a ball and failing. Loving the strangled grunt that left her pretty little mouth. Loving, loving, loving the way she had a touch of the old Margaret in her eyes as she looked at him—eyebrows raised, eyes wide and brimming with the usual boring question—
why
?

Satisfaction streamed through him, and his cock ached. “Now that you understand we’re completely back to normal, I’m going to release you, Margaret. Before I do, though, there are certain rules. You
must
obey them. If you don’t, there won’t only be consequences for
you
regarding punishment.”

“Fuck you!” She spat in his face. “Fuck you and the scabby horse you rode in on, arsehole!”

Oh dear. This is an…unfortunate turn of events.

He wiped her spittle from his cheek with his sleeve. Sighed. Fisted his hands and resisted thumping her in the stomach again. He so wanted to hear that pained grunt…

“Let me explain this a little better, Margaret, hmmm? I’m going to release you, and you’re going to get dressed very quickly. We’re going to leave this room—you’ll be handcuffed to me—and you’re going to smile and walk beside me as though you’re happy. We’re going to exit this building and get into my car—”

“I’m not going with you. Harry will be here in a minute and—”

“Harry will
not
be here in a minute!” he roared into her face. “Harry is…detained. If you don’t leave with me in the way I’ve described, he’ll be detained permanently. Do I make myself clear?”

She gasped and finally,
finally
tugged at the binds.

Achilles heel. Marvellous!

“What have you done to him? Where is he?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with trifling details.”

He released one wrist and one ankle, then grabbed her free arm while he took care of the other ankle restraint. Pressing against her to keep her from struggling or lashing out, he undid the last manacle. He stepped back and dragged her to her clothing, standing over her as she dressed, amused that she kept glancing at the door.

“Believe me, he’s not coming, Margaret. Now hurry up before I lose my temper.”

He kicked her calf and she stumbled but made no sound.

A pity…

She made short work of dressing then, and once finished stood in front of him with her arm out for him to snap on the cuffs. At last, she was seeing sense.

“I’m not doing this because I’m obeying you like I did before,” she said. “I’m doing it for Harry.”

“Oh, how delightfully sweet. Margaret is in love.” He yanked her towards the door. “Just so we’re clear before I open this door… If you call out, look at anyone with an expression that makes it clear you’re not happy, or you mess me around while in this building, Harry will stop breathing. Understand?”

She nodded, her face paling.

Master sighed. She really had lost her manners.

He took a good amount of flesh on her upper arm between his finger and thumb and pinched. “I said, understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” She winced.

“It hurt to say that, didn’t it?”

She didn’t respond, just stared back at him with defiance written all over her.

Bitch.

He opened the door and escorted her down into the lobby, watching her in his peripheral. She smiled over-brightly, and one or two people sitting on the sofas glanced their way, some with heads cocked in silent question as to what Margaret was doing with him, others with grins, completely unaware she had arrived with Knowles. The former didn’t bother him if they thought to alert Knowles of their leaving. Master would have Margaret right where he wanted her at his place long before Knowles got a whiff of his sub being taken.

His sub? Mine. Mine!

They breezed past the receptionist and went outside, Margaret sucking in a breath—the shock of the cold, he supposed. Once out of sight of the club entrance, Master took her around the corner into the car park, roughly shepherding her to his vehicle. He pressed her inside with his hand on her head, treating her like the criminal she was. She’d broken the law, his law, and she’d now have to pay the price and do the time.

Chuckling at his thoughts, he unlocked the cuff on his wrist and secured her to the handle on the inside of the door. He’d anticipated her clawing at his face with her free hand as he strapped her in, but she remained still, gaze fixed out the windshield.

He locked her inside and walked around to get in himself. The engine purred to life, and Master imagined Margaret’s reaction when she realised where she would be doing her penance. She hated the room underground, the one he’d built himself below his back garden, even though she’d only been in there once and for an hour or so.

This time she’d be in there a damn sight longer.

He drove, mind on the next phase of his plan, a part of him vigilant to any tricks she might decide to pull while on their journey. He needn’t have worried. She sat like a good girl the whole way home, dry-eyed and silent. He noted goosebumps on her arms—he hadn’t bothered putting on the heater—and saw her quivering chin as she trembled. From the cold or fear?

Either way he didn’t care. Her feelings no longer came into it, and when he thought about it, they hadn’t before either. Why should they? She was his to do with as he wished and no one would convince him otherwise. He laughed at that—a wonderful belly laugh that cleansed him, eased out the kinks in his muscles and smoothed the jagged edges of his nerves.

He pulled to a stop in his driveway and got out, uncuffing her from the handle and pushing her to his front door. Inside, he continued guiding her from behind until they stood in the dining room. He’d moved the table and chairs over to the side earlier, easily shifting them due to the rug beneath, and now the trap door to the underground room was in plain view, open and ready to accept her.

“You know where you’re going, don’t you, Margaret?”

She nodded, not a frisson of fear evident, gaze unwavering, chin set, mouth an angry slash that made him want to hurt her. Time enough for that later. For now, keeping her below the ground would appease his anger. He rather looked forward to imagining her crying down there, pining for a man she’d never have again. Oh, the heartbreak! Oh, the sublime pleasure of seeing her twisted up in pain—inside and out!

He bobbed his head in the direction of the trap door and she moved closer to it without complaint, taking the wooden steps down into the darkness. He followed, battling with the voice inside his head telling him to push her, let her tumble over the steps and land on the cement floor.

At the bottom, he reached out to his right and found the hanging light cord. He tugged it and a low-watt bulb sprang to life, illuminating the tunnel-like passageway where a metal door stood at the end. Margaret walked towards it, back straight, spine full of the courage he’d beat out of her, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next week. He hadn’t decided yet.

Once they reached the door, she moved to one side so he could insert the key. He shoved her into the large room, bare of any comforts, the floor the same rough concrete as the tunnel, the walls coarse, unpainted beige plaster.

The perfect prison.

She walked to the centre and turned to face him, eyes blank and giving nothing away, her body seemingly at ease. He wondered if she was screaming inside, imagining where Harry was and why her gallant knight hadn’t yet come to find her. Whether he would even bother once he discovered she wasn’t in the dungeon cage anymore. Master anticipated a visit from him, one where he allowed Knowles into his home to search for Margaret, laughing with glee inside when he showed him into the dining room, the man completely unaware the entrance to finding her was right beneath the rug.

Master laughed—hard and hearty.

“Goodbye, Margaret. I’ll be back at some point to check whether you’re sorry. If I find you’re not, I’ll leave you again. Eventually, you’ll give in and comply. Hunger and thirst will see to that. And oh”—he rubbed his arms in an exaggerated manner—“it’s awfully chilly down here, don’t you think?” He glanced around. “And no blankets or anything. Oh dear.”

He backed out, studying her one last time before he closed the door.

When he returned later, he would expect that look of hatred to be gone, replaced with relief that he’d come back to let her out.

Chapter Thirteen

Ruby watched as Master closed the door on her prison. Although this was only the second time she’d been down here, memories from the last time came flooding back. How long did he intend keeping her here? It could be an indefinite length of time—no one, as far as she knew, was aware of this basement—and she realised no one except Harry would miss her. She’d cut herself off from her mother because of Master, so Ruby being incarcerated for months on end wouldn’t be noticed.

A horrible thought hit her then. What if Master’s friends knew of this room? What if he told them she was here and had the insane idea of sharing her with them? He’d shown possessive tendencies in the past, so she could only hope he still wanted to keep her for himself, but she didn’t know him, not really, and with Master, anything was possible.

Having him touch her again had almost made her sick. In his car, she’d gone inside herself, to that place she’d inhabited before she met Harry, where she kept her
self
secure, away from Master. When he’d beaten her, put his hands all over her, his fingers in places she didn’t want them to be, she’d switched off. Now, though, down here, she struggled to reach that safe place. Having been caressed in a wholly different way by Harry, she couldn’t seem to erase Master’s recent handling. Shuddering against a wave of revulsion, she simply stared at the wall, her body dead inside and in hateful contrast, alive on the outside with his touch. It was still on her, a tangible imprint of his hands on her skin, buzzing and squirming as though alive.

Unable to stand thinking about it anymore, she turned her mind to other things—anything to keep herself occupied.

What has he done to Harry? Is he okay?

She couldn’t bear to think about anything happening to the man she loved. Had she fucked up big-time in keeping hers and Master’s identities a secret?

Maybe I should have told Harry who I am, who Master is. He would know, then, where to come and find me, but now? Shit!

Panic settled in her gut, a heavy stone that exploded into fragments and spread to the rest of her body. She shook from the force of it and folded her arms, hands over her elbows in an attempt to stop the shivers. Her teeth chattered, the sound reverberating inside her head, and she closed her eyes to ward off the beginnings of a stress headache that threatened, a nasty little twitch at the base of her skull that would bloom and spread much like the panic had done until she gave in and huddled in the corner. She didn’t know what to do or what to think and turned on the spot, knowing there was no way out except through that door. Master—

Stop calling him fucking Master. He’s a pompous prick who deserves a kick in the teeth for what he’s done. Call him by his proper, shitty fucking name!

She blew out a breath, pleased she hadn’t caved in, that she still had fight left in her. She had Harry to focus on, to live for, and if Master thought he could break her again, he had another think coming.

To make herself angry, she thought of the real name of the man who had almost succeeded in turning her into a shell of her former self. Nigel. The prick used to disappear for hours on end, and now she knew it was most probably to the club. But shouldn’t members of the club be under some kind of code? How had he been able to get away with taking her like that? Hadn’t it been clear she was Harry’s sub? Why hadn’t someone stepped forward and stopped her leaving with Nigel? Or was that how it worked there, men and women could arrive with one person and leave with another? From her understanding, though, when a sub belonged to a Master, they remained with that Master until they were released, until their collar—

Fuck.
She no longer wore a collar…

There was no way Nigel could have done anything to Harry, was there? Not at the club. He must have been bluffing. She’d noticed there were cameras all over the place, and someone must have seen what happened—or at least they would when the videos were looked over.

But do they even watch the videos? How long will it take for them to see what happened? It could be a weekly thing where they scan the footage. I could be here for days!

Fuck. She was such a fucking dim-witted idiot. Yes, she’d agreed to leave with him because of his threats to Harry, but would Nigel really have seen them through if she’d let someone know she was leaving against her will? She’d been convinced back then he would have, but now she wasn’t so sure. He was just a bully towards women, only able to threaten and hurt them. If it came to standing up to a man, she wasn’t convinced he had the balls.

Smacking her head with her hand, she cursed everything she could think of. The weather, the day, even the bloody time. There was no way he would have hurt Harry.

Going to the door, she tightened her hand around the metal knob, jerked and twisted it, anything to make a noise. But what was the point? Only Nigel would hear it, and knowing she was trying to get out would undoubtedly give him some kind of sadistic pleasure.